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Trevor Blevins Jul 2016
I stumbled into you via modern technology,
Shot out of an atom smasher with endless chances
To spark some debate on space and all that lies between the moon and your window.

I like to believe in the odds of random probability,
Taking extraordinary circumstance and crafting it into friendship,

A testament to innovation, modern socialization,
And classically, it's boy meets girl once again, and she's sitting on a fortune of intellect.

Thinking for yourself has unlimited *** appeal behind it, and you're glowing with charisma.

You're my drug, my very own antidepressant.

I thank every God for the atom smasher that made it possible to collide with you.
A moster called a smasher

They say your heart
Is a heart of gold
Never broken
Never been stolen
I though to myself
How could this be true
I spoke to him for the first time in ages
His eyes looked inlighten
His mouth looked egor to kiss the cracked lips of another
A gentle imbrace of a warm hug
Welcomes me with the words im sorry
Flashbacks full my mind
How could he not be broken?
More words flowed out
From the many years
Of not speaking      

He told me
I never texted back
That we could never be close again
That he has alway been waiting
He stopped to think
And he ended with the heartbreaking words
I loved you once
I loved you twice
I thought you were nice
You took my heart
And smashed it into pieces

I felt sick
Had I become a smasher?
I whispered
I waited for your message
It never came
Slowly we moved apart
We went our own ways
What was I meant to say

You were meant to say I love you
st64 Sep 2013
collector of iron and all things metal
carried without slightest lament
by
beautiful brown-and-white nag with overflowing mane
clip-clops up and down
every road there is
and even beyond



1.
little doubt exists
of fine ingenuity
of said collector
who wastes no moment nor chance
to scour every luck’s platform
with sharp intuition and assiduous eyes
          an old stove with absent racks
          a precious copper geyser gutted with no fittings
          pine-planks discarded due to skew-cuts
          aluminium pipes abandoned with twisted ends
          old screws with rusty whorls from an recently bucket-kicked geezer’s garage
          parts of a car . . . an ****** gearbox and ancient exhausts
heaps of junk and piles of crap clang on cart
a veritable dump in some eyes but those of
the cool collector who takes all the sweepings in gracious stride
cast-off penalties and chaffs of society’s unwanted

2.
once a week on Saturdays
these wares are parked near the parking lot
for all to approach
to see
a fine spread of legend and lore
     bric-à-brac and books to browse
so many things of interest
     magazines and manuals with miscellany-topics under the sun
     hipflasks of silver and clear-cut carafes
     unused greeting-cards with dressed-up paper-dolls
     rare literature well-thumbed with care
and things you’d sure chuck out
mechanical entrails and shiny things
yet
quite a spectacle to behold
costing a joke but for you
a fraction of today's ha'penny

3.
nobody knows why the quiet collector takes the time of day
to re-inforce that fixture-presence
a kindly soul with half-smile always flirting round the lips
and greets with old-century warmth o'er book-edge, markedly a poem-spine
walking closer to peep curiosity around
relaxed eyes let one be
          no compulsive sales-talk
          no eager-****** hopping
just sitting back in deep hiker’s green fold-up chair
easy posture and half-drooped eyes with soft drink close at hand

4.
the collector really watches all who pass
     who go by on their daily trails with rituals oft unchanged
     who fuss ever-plaintive over facetious deets like school-tasks
as they return their books long overdue while whistling smasher-hit tunes (never to be heard)
     who rush to catch an ever-noisy taxi with their own raucous guards
     who help heaving housewives cursing under breath climb on board
as their groceries groan and nearly drop from overladen plastic bags
     who ignore for now with studious intent the hobos on the pavement there
     who beg lost coins for empty-belly from the tattered purses in bosoms
while others cry out impatient at peripheral nuisances
     who act as indiscreet ‘car-guards’ ostensibly guarding cars, even with folk in it

yes, he watches
and observes with keen eyes yet never obvious
even those who saunter by
with pondering glance and walking stick
even as years have graciously touched their brow
he sees them *tut-tut
the ******* on the wall
like stray-dogs in a pound

5.
once in an often while
this collector who loves a rediscovered hypothesis
to explore the myriad facets of humanity
does an odd turn now and then
when walking to the toilet at the local library
which has parked itself adjacent to this lot
drops a twenty-buck note near the side
and soon joyful sees the utter surprise
when tired high-school kids with sullen backpacks
do a double-take
espy their luck . . . whoo-hoo, look!
their gloomy cloaks of learning plain melts
they take off sure-footed and lighter of heart
and repair to the fish-and-chips shop
they share their vinegary ***** in a finger-licking circle
and amity strong-cemented in a cool memory
that they’d recall with fondness many years later
at their 20th school-reunion
and as grand-dads visiting a dying pal

pangs of hunger satisfied
and
not only by them


next time
that note will be dropped in the park nearby
where effete winos sleep their lives away
     who ken much and give not a care
     a kind long not recognised
educated derelicts debate on war-merits and erstwhile musicians play melodic arpeggios
sitting in the gentle arbour-shade of mutual acceptance
with chess-mad players
working out strategy in rapt blade-moves
which belie and scorn the forgotten titles to their name
along with Ph.D to boot

6.
when night-time hails - all grows still again
and settles, though just for a nibble of time
it’s pack-up time
the listening collector hears the owl-hoot’s call
and knows the time has come to rest a bit
     for when the morrow dawns
     all neatly packaged in a brand-new gift called day
it’s back on the road again
to observe once more
with trusted nag in tow
clip-clop . . . clip-CLOP

7.
and the collector is the one
the housewives invite with alacrity to Xmas-lunch
the taxi-drivers offer gifts of goodwill
the school-kids give their chips and last treats
the vagrants seek out to share a ciggie and sympa-chat
the grown men visit for esoteric slim-tomes and philosophical advice
the shopkeepers welcome reassuring presence of

yes, this quiet collector
is the inadvertent guest
to shores of the lonely
the too-busy and life-ridden folk
who seek a sweet smile
just once in a while
in a world
where compassion is not justified by its deep-touches of poverty





no fruitless labour
in one who sees little detriment
but senses the full value of
every item’s moment in vanilla-time
while trying always
to catch
the finest one can be



supreme harvest, indeed
yes :)
love . . . love . . . love . . .





S T, 1 September
Happy Spring Day!
And . . . er . . . catch some sun-rays . . . while ye can :)



Sub – entry : 'empty chairs'

Songwriter: Don McLean


I feel the trembling tingle of a sleepless night
Creep through my fingers and the moon is bright
Beams of blue come flickering through my window pane
Like gypsy moths that dance around a candle flame

And I wonder if you know
That I never understood
That although you said you'd go
Until you did I never thought you would

Moonlight used to bathe the contours of your face
While chestnut hair fell all around the pillow case
And the fragrance of your flowers rest beneath my head
A sympathy bouquet left with the love that's dead

And I wonder if you know
That I never understood
That although you said you'd go
Until you did I never thought you would

Never thought the words you said were true
Never thought you said just what you meant
Never knew how much I needed you
Never thought you'd leave, until you went

Morning comes and morning goes with no regret
And evening brings the memories I can't forget
Empty rooms that echo as I climb the stairs
And empty clothes that drape and fall on empty chairs

And I wonder if you know
That I never understood
That although you said you'd go
Until you did I never thought you would



http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=AwzHlyVRc9o
A wife her husband's tool did sever,
Causing him in court to file for divorce
From his cruel and heartless smasher.
And ere the Magistrate with a voice
Mellow the man narrated how his mate,
Prior to that brutality, has been starving
Him of ***, that except to procreate,
She rarely allows him conjugal gendering.

Another pair about which I read, this time,
Howbeit, it was the wife that sought for
Split from her hubby, whose chief crime
Was, again, appertaining to the succour
Of copulation, telling the court that for almost
Six months straight, her man never did her
In the buff behold, let alone upon her crust
And crumb feasted; wherefore depriving her.


Is love acclaimed nought but a fancy fad,
That at last in divorce it at times ends?
The above accounts are no tales, though sad,
By a drunk told. How heart commends
Itself to lovelorness' rack! What about spouses
Also that did their partners ****** for a reason
Dark? Why will married couples their houses
And homes turn into affection prison?


And those couples initially, at first, when
They in courtship were, would truly seem,
The very best peacock and peahen
To themselves--a groom and bride dream.
Was this sight silly and that heart foolish
When they did settle for that guy and girl
Of all babes and blokes admired and cherish-
Ed then, for whom they did daily whirl?

Marriage dissolution is a grave malady,
Rendering relation, keeping parents and kids at
Bay by breaking a once very close-knit family
Apart, and, which also pierces God's holy heart
With anguish; yet we seem to be making light
Of our vows sacred: for worse and for better,
To love indeed forever in good and ill plight,
Uttering promises at the altar that no sooner alter.

Though marriage is beyond the bliss of bed,
Enduring nay by just rolling in a deep hay
Ever and anon, and smooching to the red,
For couple cannot in that mood every day
And occasion be; yet of coitus, each other
Must they not deny for some excuses bogus,
But should sate their oats promptly, rather
Than yielding to concupiscence or divorce.

And what is the mileage of marriage
Betwixt man and wife upon this earth,
Who with their lips did cheerfully pledge
Before witnesses present,--is it the dearth
Of reasoning when to each other said: "Till
Death do us part"? I cannot it truly fathom
Whole, how marital unions break up. But still,
Know I, relationships do persist with wisdom.

Meanwhile, that man's stitched willie will
Not rise as the sun and be on a nymphet
Set again, save by a miracle. But his evil
Ex-wife can go on to relish in ****** couplet.
Thank heaven, he has three offspring from the
Pact; while the latter story produced only one
Child. Many do take a petty lust for a pretty
Love, playing their queen and king like a pawn.
Revolute Jay Sep 2012
Nothing is indestructible.
We all know most things can be broken.
At home, in your friend’s toy chest
Breaking things in a place you’re considered a guest
I guess,
Breaking a bone hurts. I know through some testimonies
I wouldn’t know, but maybe eventually
That ninety or so broken degree
Painful message sent through the spinal cord holding me--
Together.
Underneath the thin material having been tethered.
The spine surviving endless stages of weather
Holding on to claim being a backbone helplessly held together
Hoping through each trimumph the chronic pain might feel better
Only holding onto the self as a go-getter
As life’s building blocks as the brick setter
The rain picks up
And life’s damp becomes wetter.
Just let her.

Things, as if they were pushed right over the edge
Smashed, or broken, as the smasher’s true pledge
It’s not me. These ten fingers deny
To be responsible for all the pain felt as the time passed me by

Maybe it was everything. The endless rotation of our planet.
Maybe it was this or that. ****, I have had it.
It wasn’t everything, or anything, or anyone or body
It wasn’t the unerasable ink splatter and splotting
It wasn’t the wind that knocked me over
It wasn’t the colors you’d paint me
It wasn’t the night,
It wasn’t the morning,
It wasn’t the past or present cold mourning.

It was not my limbs or the joints, or the ligaments that compose me
The fragments and pieces ] glued together intravenously

Each psalm taken in the hurricane seasons’ wrath
One, after another, too broken to cast

The two unequal hands ring based on the hour
Whose sounds was the ring of a shared life now gone sour
Because being ignored, as if I never existed is power
Unconsider yourself, at least today, that forever blooming flower.
I might be a million things. But of those not a coward.
Today you took the title with a medal to show off to the people you know
Welcome to the black and the white swan’s big show
At this point I’m the raven, she’ll never know
I was too drunk to function at the end of the show.

The curtains begin to rise, and I watch in surprise
How exposed and naked are the both of our lives
As your patience has taken time to disguise
Replacements as substitutions for the nature of the styles
We have to live life in the ways that we fight
Hoping for what we want in the end without struggle
How about perfection? I said on the double.

And those two uneven hands of the clock are due to change places
Ticking away at our concept of time
And aging our faces
The weeks pass us by
The days and the hours
Ask me who if not both of us are the coward

The giant dump truck grinds up countless materials
Making fragments of the things that existed for real
And what lasted in the bins of the emotions free wheels
Making internal rationalizations for what I tried to feel.
It’s over and over on what I wanted to seal
Were too many things to remember?
Dreams turning it all too, too real.
Turn my mind inside out I begin to expose now and peel.
How long will it take to forget
Or to heal?
I don’t know what to call this.
And idea or what’s real.
I’ll tell you what the heart asked for his final meal
Peace to believe what we did have was real.

Life keeps grinding up what treasures I’ve collected.
Forget what memories I ever recollected
All I’m asking is that I remain intact and protected.

But no one can guarantee me that.
No one can ask me to offer up my hands frostbitten with your cold
No one can ask me to bluff followed by my own fold
No one can ask me the number of me having been sold.
There was one dream and I bought it.
Except the belief in the memory is what I’ve left to have fought it.

I don’t ask or expect to ever be repaired.
But you didn’t break me, so why were you ever so scared?
Maybe for the immeasurable amount that you actually cared.
But today’s findings have left me quite frankly impaired.
I didn’t exist to you at all. I was the invisible man.
I use all my abilities to understand as I can.
But nothing makes sense to the invisible man.

So he hopes and he hopes for just one part of him to be seen.
One of his hands through the smoke in your overly-woven screen
To knowingly be holding one of yours, when your reality’s clean.
I’m the invisible man.
Pretending not to see me was a game played unclean.
I hope one day in your life he exists.
Parting through the smog and the fog and the mist
As I feel forgotten in both my clenched fists
What's left is to let go of  those fogged moments like this.

vi.xxiii.xii
Copyright © Jimena Zavaleta 2012
M Clement May 2013
Mixy-Twixy
Atom-Smasher
Take my brain
I hope it's matter
Break away from all the things we said we'd be
Internally

False pretense
On happenstance
All my socks have holes
Breaking molds
Of wither and tither
I keep your family on standby
Hand-holding lullaby

There was a cake on my doorstep
And a front porch on my brain stem
Again and again
And Asian
And never have I ever
Played a game with this many fingers

Following muffin-tops to your local coffee cart
There's a joke there

Breaking, breaking
Silence retaking
I haven't heard from you in a fortnight
Mind's eye
Zip-tie
Bedroom follies

I hope you get better
As I write letter by letter
And hope that you're not mad
Sad, enraged, but glad
****-mad and tired
Fired the liar
Who broke the back of the cat next door
Heart attack on front porches
Cause distress and sores
On the back of the man
Who did nothing  but hoard
For more and more and more

God be with us, I do pray
But Mary take my prayers away
Make them better, I ask, I say
And send them to who needs them most
Today
Cassie Stoddard Mar 2014
I keep reading these poems
about love,
fresh love, new love, true love.
But all I can think about
is how
sad, beautiful, heartbroken
these poems will be
when that
love
ends.
Love unfeigned, how can it be
Truly known: by deed or by word?


Take old Sisera for example, my lady,
Who fled with his glittering sword
To the tent of Jael, the beloved wife
Of Kenite, from the face of Barak.
And of her requested he for his life
Water, and she in action was not slack
To offer him milk instead, and did cover
Him again with a blanket. Sleeping in peace,
She crept softly to him with a hammer
And nailed down his temple with ease.
Yet to her did he entrust his safety,
Seeking from the smasher vain security.


Consider Joab, too, how he by his fine
Speech killled Amasa his worthy cousin;
Taking his beard with his right hand
As though he would give him a kiss grand,
Whilst his left hand had a thirsty dagger
Waiting; and he pierced the good feller
Through with his wicked blade. How the tongue
Of men do flatter oft in order to do wrong!
*Sisera and Jael; Jud. 4
*Joab and Amasa; 2Sam. 20
Travis Green Oct 2022
You are my infatuating
And scintillating smasher
My top-quality ardent star turn
I long for your unstoppable
Enthralling hotness in my heart
In breezy, wintry December

On a cheery and magical Christmas night
I wanna lay with ya
By the shockingly gaudy fireplace
Marvel at the snowy and picturesque scene
Outside our massive glassy window

Such an elegant and classic attraction
To behold, to be engrossed in
As I stroke your impressive, silky beard
Run my fingertips across your bewitchingly
Vivid and vigorous lips

Imbue your soft sweet cheeks
With the biggest, juiciest kisses
Linger in your intensely intimate dimension
Sheathed in static splashy slathers
Of your immaculate impassioned magnetism
If no Christian priorly am i. And should all
I know about the David's Son was from the
Believers' lips. One act of Christ that shall
My vagabond soul convert is that poor lady,
Who was, by the righteous Jews, caught in
The act of adultery, and to the eternal Light
Was brought to be unto death ******. Stooping
Down, and with his finger began he to write
In the sand; rising up again, saying, he should the
First person be a stone at her to cast
Among the gathered accusers, who's from iniquity
Free and has committed, not in the time past
Neither in this present state, a single sin. And
They, hearing this, from the oldest head began
They to disappear--who had come to reprimand
The woman with a stoning sentence--one by one.
Having all gone, Jesus, thus asked the smasher:
"Woman, where are all thine many an accuser?
And hath no man condemned thee?" She answering
The Lord gracious, "No, sir." "Neither do i too,"
Said the Saviour. "Go, and sin no more, my darling."
Yea, such is the Messiah's love and mercy true!
To save came Christ, and not to sinners ****;
The only Prophet that liberated man from the Devil.
brandon nagley Jul 2015
K so you all know lol Frank ruland Jr has all these profiles
Frank ruland Jr
Bear dove
Ormend's dog
And Lena Walters

All his profiles so you all know
Thanks
Troll smasher Brandon nagley
VHE RedWolf Sep 2015
what's wrong with you jasper
everywhere you go your presents is ghostly unseen like casper
YOUR NOT GOOD ENOUGH
your a conflict caster
witty but not faster
antagonist to laughter
the fact of the factor is that jasper is the master
OF *******
your faker than plaster
lies fill your chapter
your just another whack rapper  
a dream smasher
sellin your pride from a tractor
YOU'RE A ****** DISASTER
a druggie an blunt passer
mentality of a raptor
the head master hereafter all the glorious stories
OF *******
jasper you have to stray away from fool ****
see its basically a pool pit
OF DOOM
verbs go boom as ignorance fills the room
you have finally sealed your tomb
tis destine since the womb
hope you don't go to soon
but its too late because jasper's dead
IM REDWOLF *****
random af but what evz
David W Clare Dec 2016
By: David W. Clare

I was hiding away from crooks when I met the only girl I thought I ever liked,
she said her name was Wanda...

A real oriental smasher, smart as a whip!
Easy to be with at the coffee-shop where we met...

Then she acted funny; kinda aloof like a Siamese cat!
She wasn't hungry but she knew I was...

We walked up hill in China town to the Shanghai Tower where they rent rooms by the hour...

I was in the mood for some sweet and sour!

All I got to eat was sour-dough!

We got drunk on cheap *****, then she tossed me to the dogs, I wound up on skid row...

(C) In perpetuity all rights reserved
(P) FilmNoirWorks
Hollywood type 1940s film idea about a tough dame who tossed me out!
           Film Noir is my passion...
Queen singer Sep 9
The person I was is slowly fading
I tell no one, so no one can be aiding

My mind shatters like an atom smasher
My heart and breathing are going faster

Take a pill and make it better
Or sit right down and write a letter

What I say is written in a panic
I feel me stepping up to manic

He’s so upset, and his eyes say
“Did you have a really bad day?”

Toys are brought, 3 in all
“Grandma will you throw the ball?”

“Playing fetch will make you happy.”
I know. the dog is very sappy

I cannot ignore the plea
It’s the eyes, it gets to me

So outside we go to play
You KNOW, I feel better today
Graff1980 Oct 2017
She was beautiful, a bit small at first. There were wooden panels cutting a rabid swath from every corner. She had two rooms with the potential for more, and chance to start a future.
            Then came a room, and another. The wood was covered or replaced with grainy grey shingles. The grey shingle moistened and dried so many times that they began to rot. A generation came and went, then came back spawning another.
            There were ghosts, not spectral spasms or phantasmal energies, but memories. Walls changing color, furniture coming and going like the children. There was a beautifully brown couch and a rough static cushioned chair. Next to the couch was a misplaced metal shelf that housed endless trinkets, like old watches, batteries, photos, toenail clippers, loose change, a couple pockets knives, and any many other items that paralleled the houses history.
            A radio once adorned the center of the house, then an old box TV, and now a fat screen piece of crap with no character spews out the modern day nonsense, shallow and cold.
            The porch appeared many years after her birth. A stony or maybe metallic desk slowly filled itself with small pieces of the house’s history. There were puzzles with no box, and pieces missing so that only part of the picture could be made; a little black book of dates so far removed from the present that nothing inside was legible. Little toys and sports paraphernalia slipped and slid across the floor till they found their perfect and final resting place. Newspapers and magazine began to rise from the floor to the ceiling as if taking on a monstrous life of their own.
            The cellar went from a useful hole in the ground where jars of preserves were stored to a dusty place with dirt floors and hidden boogie men lay. The back porch, which had a cracked and uneven cement surface, held an old washing machine were the young children occasionally had their tender fingers smashed. Behind the finger smasher was an ancient magic kitchen cabinet where old battle scarred action figures with crack chests, or missing limbs would reappear after vanishing years ago.
            The yard, once full of the sound of children’s laughter and barking dogs, grew silent. Not even the old rope swing with the cracked wooden seat remained. The cement steps and small walkway lost their final battle to the shrubbery. Now the door is concealed as if it is some secret passageway to another land. Maybe it is.
            She leans lightly to the left, buckling under her own weight as she sinks slowly into the dirt and obscurity. This is her short story with more character then a Faulkner novel, and more love then most families will ever know. She was the soft cradling mother of three generations, holding their hearts and all of their memories.
            Now ghostly echoes remain. The second and the last tenant, the mother child who seeded the love and strangeness will fade. The house will rot, for that is its lot. The fireflies that once danced and blinked no longer come, the crickets now chirp their mournful songs. The mother inside loses what little dignity she has left as her mind falters and with her the strength of the house fails as well.
            But there was a time when she shone with all the glory the world had to offer. There was so much love and fun. There was so much safety. There was so much history, maybe a millennia of history that lived with in only a century of time. My other mother, a mask for the last past that I had any link to. I speak to her with the trembling voice of a child waiting for his mother to die, knowing full well that when she passes I will have to depend on this imperfect memory of mine to remember, because she will be gone.
            Somewhere a dog barks, a cat meows, the house creaks with the wind whipping harshly against its new aluminum siding; Just a temporary facelift for a dying beauty.
sparklysnowflake Jul 2021
Before I left to walk to your music show in the courtyard,
I slipped the knife my boyfriend gave me into my dress pocket.
It was heavy enough to weigh down half the outfit, and
radiated something putrid or dissonant in that crowd
of flowers and sandals and paint and honey-chamomile
for the entire duration, but
I needed a reminder of who I am now.

Being near you at all was already a betrayal of myself
because now I guess I'm playing his type: the ******* girl--
the stereotype-smasher-badass-***** girl--
calling her a "girl" isn't even fair
because she chopped enough of her hair
to be Wyoming's worst "******" nightmare,
and she wears work boots and flannels and scars,
(and sweatshirts to cover my secret scrawny arms--)
She’s a piece-of-machinery girl,
a rachet-and-wrenched-myself-together girl,

and it took so ******* long for me to forge a metal exoskeleton
hard enough to smother this stupid gushy heart.

Because a heart only compromises the real **** I have to do in the real world--
not your fantasy world where no one has a job but
slurping your excess passion alone is somehow enough to sustain, and
the men sweep bundles of wild violets-- shooting straight out of the New York City pavement--
into their hands as gifts, and
their women smile and flip their Pantene-commercial hair in slow-motion, and
together the lovers paint poetry onto each other's chests in the dark, and
your long-expired promise of that love-- of your dream--
that you had me believing
still plunges deeper into my stomach than I ever planned it to and it feels like a white-hot
knife splitting me open from throat to bladder--

You came out to hug me when the show ended.
I walked home crying a hydraulic expulsion of the final remnants
of my old, foreclosed heart.
Then he was right there waiting for me at home, and it was so easy
to pretend.
Yenson Sep 2020
here's a thought
from our goons in the loom
we've done the no *** drought
and regent just despite seem to bloom
so we should send him ladies pretty and bright
mind they must be clean with no std to make him swoon
know he's a goer like a geyser all day and night
the ladies should do doggy and spoon
let him have it nice and tight
do him till he goes boom
that's him outta sight

what do you mean
that's a crazy idea, you *****
aren't we crazy, where have you been
look all we've been doing for years, you prawn
he's big  like our Henry the eight without a queen
think how  **** ladies can jump him till his member withdrawn
they'll put in the shift and **** him till he's lean
keep him going at it from dusk to dawn
tell you after a month he ain't so keen
thereafter he's going to go down
sure-fire plan he's off the scene
go get ladies you clown
clean, tanned no acne
so that's the plan
TAKING THE MICKEY......Just a joke, don't go trying this or else all the ladies will return totally worn out, walking funny but insisting they want to marry the geyser. And the geyser would still be raring to go and in utmost fine fettle, go ask the two that tried this, they are still dreaming of that experience till last night, assuming they're still alive...

Honestly, I laugh so much with myself, I really should be writing comedy......
Big Virge Jan 2021
Ya Know...
I've Found In This Life...
That... Girls And Guys...

Who Behave Like CHUMPS... !!!!!
Like To Play... Mitch Green...
And Beat Me To The PUNCH.... ?!!!?

When My Lyrical Flows...
Cause DAMAGE To Bones...
Like A Young... Roy Jones... !!!!!

Ya See They're CLEARLY BLIND...
And... OUT of Their Minds... !?!

To THINK That They Punch...
HARDER Than MY Lines.... !!!!

Lines... REFINED...
And Designed Through Rhyme...
To... Lyrically SHINE... !!!

And... KNOCK OUT Minds...
Whose Punch Is... light... !!!!

In FACT Their Stunts...
Come Like That DUCK... !!!!!

But Donald Gets *******... !!!
When My Lyrical... RUNS... !!!

Cos' Like Phasers It STUNS... !!!
When It Runs With Drums...
And Bass That Bumps...

Because It HITS...
Like.... Tysons' Fists.... !!!

So Punches BIG Frames...
... ALL OVER THE PLACE... !!!!

And Penetrates WAY...
ABOVE It's Weight... !!!!!!!

Cruiser To Bruiser...
Like... Heavyweights...
From ALI's Day Back To J J... !!!

That's Right... Jack Johnson...
Causing Heads PROBLEMS... !!!!!

Or Maybe Like Shavers...
Foreman Or... Frazier...

A... Body SMASHER...
When I Punch With MORE STATURE....
Than... Margaret Thatcher... !!!!!

That's Right I'm The Boss...
of... Krypton Factors... !!!

Punching With Matter...
That Leaves Heads SHATTERED... !!!!
Because of The PLATTER...
of Lyrics That... BATTER... !!!

Like... Tropical Storms... !!!!!
Because When I Punch...
I Punch Like A SWARM...
of Locusts SO POTENT...

That They FLY Like An OCEAN...
..... Up In THE SKY..... !!!!!

Can You... " Visualise "...
What That FEELS Like... ???

... Constantly POUNDED...
By Punches SURROUNDING...
And Constantly HOUNDING...
Fools Who Be DROWNING...

When I Get To Sounding...
My Views From HIGH MOUNTAINS... !!!

... Lyrically PEAKING...
With Punch That Has Meaning...
Beyond The Weak Leanings...
of Most Peoples' BLEATING... !!!!!!!

So Y'all Know The Score... !!!
A Lyrical War With Big Virge...
Means You'll... FALL... !!!

To A Place Where...
... Your Stunts....
Once and FOR ALL...

Are........ "hidden from view"...
And NOT SEEN ANYMORE... !!!!!

While My Punches FORCE...
People To... Applaud...

When You're Left On The Floor...
Trying To... " Crawl "... !!!!!

Like BERBICK' You're HURTING...
Having LOST When The War...
... DISLOCATED Your Jaw... !!!!!!!!!

My Punches Have PURPOSE... !!!
And Have People NERVOUS... !!!

Because They're Intention...
Is To Teach Those HARSH LESSONS...
To Heads Who Be STRESSING...

As Well As... Attempting...
To PROVE That They're TOUGH...
When They LACK The STUFF...

That Gives Them The STRENGTH...
That My Mental Presents... !!!

Because Just Like... NEO...
I'm The... " Lyrical ONE "... !!!

Whose Use of Verse STUNS... !!!

Because It Has....

.... " PUNCH ".... !!!!!
Inspired by a number of things, (obviously).
However, one of them came from watching the, Planet Earth episode, where the guys literally were, in a field surrounded by millions of locusts !

Some of the things that inspire art, are truly amazing to me !!!
Travis Green Jun 2023
I hanker to slide deep
Into the flaming heat
Of his exquisiteness and sweetness
Taste his fragrant magnificent pecs
His stunningly ****
And well-defined abs

Grab his thick tempting thighs
Slide my nose up and down
His buff, luscious legs
Kiss his intriguing feet
His unbelievably good-looking lips

So uncommonly charming
So scorchingly hot and sparkling
I wanna visit every inch
Of his pristine singular masculinity
Lick on his hunkish monstrous shoulders
His mouthwatering tattooed arms

Thoughts of pulling his pants down
Put his slick, thick piece in my mouth
Let it move around in my throat
Touch each side of my jaws
Feel the magic of my irresistible lips

Make his pleasure smasher wet
Fire his imagination
Make his breathing climb to new heights
Make him high, he can’t deny my head game
Get it right, make him spaced out

Take him on the wildest ride of his life
Let him plow my face
Take my gayness
Make me go crazy
So captivated by his tasty weighty snake

I clamp his intoxicating cakes
Pull him closer to me
To delight in his fiery chocolate spice
**** his hot jolly rocks
As he changes my life

Got me sipping on his manliness
Like mango whiskey smack cocktail
Like a blackberry brandy slush
Give him all my love
Cherish his hot property

******* it like a beast
Never hesitate, always dominate
Make him salivate for the taste
Of my delectable lips
Pressed against his thickness

So bodacious, flirtatious, and vivacious
His mad hot flabbergasting splashiness
Gives me an unimaginably extraordinary mindgasm
As he bears my head down on his hardness
And discharge his juicy man mustard in my throat
Travis Green Nov 2022
Mister banging hot gangbanger
Guide me to your powerhouse pound town
Take hold of my rainbow soul
Ram relentlessly into the gateway
Of my tastefully ingratiating gayness

Rove as far as you can in my inner feminineness
Let me inhale your entrancing manly musk
Feel my world come apart at the seams
The more you turn me upside down
Dig down the dreamy depths of me

Obtain my core by force
Carry me through your wild
And desirable storms
Of uncontainable spellbinding enticingness
Cage me in your blazing hot waves
Of the best-naked greatness

Clamp my gorgeously tempting *** cheeks
Kiss me dangerously
Mesh your majesticness
With my impressiveness
Make my flesh ache
For your glistening and gripping bigness

Bulldoze my dope hole
Get rude with my smooth juicy *****
Take me into an ardent alternate world
Where you enrapture my queerness
Make me fantasize about
Your mega-magnetic manhood
Your blooming feel-good moves

Make me lose it when you soothe it
Make me woozy when you pour
Your groovy pulchritude in me
Make me sweat excessively
With the nasty **** that you do to me

**** me so ******* viciously
Slap my *** so passionately
Leave me stuck in a state of stupefaction
As you apprehend and grasp my emotions
Rock my boat with your smoke
With your active abloom cool
Your lush, robust construction

You make my heartbeat rise
With the monstrous power
Of your engaging and raging pipe
How your manly swell nuts dangle
Between your thick, gripping thighs

You got me feeling all types of things
Ready for you to claim
My amazing and pulsating playground
Your thrillingly teasing litness
Fills my system to full capacity
Has me rapt and trapped
In your crash-hot thrashing majesty

Feel your aggressive helmet head
Hit hard in my softness
Feel the contagious weight
Of your captivatingness
Radiate through my inner space
All your intoxicating and scintillating amorousness

Make me squeal and speak indistinctly
Play merry hell with my gayness
Encircle your immersiveness
All around my firm feminine architecture
**** my toes, ****** my soul

Make my wholeness explode
While your tongue slithers
Up and down the sole of my feet
Feed me your top-notch transfixing machoness
As I take in your sweet exhilarating flavor
Feel your throbbing rock-solid sauciness
***** deep in my slick hot vault

Wrap me in your crashing and strapping magicalness
Grab my head, take me for a wild, unrestrained ride
Breathe down my proud, graceful back
Make me gasp as you crash further into my bareness
Assault my thoughts and feelings
With bold, unexpected strokes

Daring, masterful smasher
You are so profoundly significant
So ******* hard-*** with your ****
Your broad, exuberant handsomeness
Your violent, headbanging delight
Delectable velvet heavy-hitter
You bang my bare, voluptuous backside
And paint my tight pink frame with white-hot milky sauce
ConnectHook May 1
Rim-walker, Foe-slayer, Guardian of the sword—
Beast-breaker, War-bringer: BRANDON of the blade
Who slew the dreaded dragon ‘ere the sun had reached the noon;

Bear-baiter, Snout-smasher, Keeper of the Axe—
World-tamer, Science-truster BRANDON of the gaffe
Who slurred the teleprompter’s truths until the mic was off;

Arms-seller, Drone-striker, Valiant war-pig Puppet—
Tax-raiser, Gender-******, BRANDON of the press
Who stumbled up the White House stairs, starting useless wars;

Let every mead-hall hail the clown
And toast his name throughout the land.
Raise high the horn in dread renown
And bravely feast in BRANDON‘s name!
PROMPT #30
write a poem in which the speaker is identified with,
or compared to, a character from myth or legend

— The End —